If Memory Serves -- A DracoHermione Slow Burn
by Kali07011
Summary: "And tell me, Draco," Bellatrix purred as she eyed his drawn wand. "Do you fear death, after all of the sins you've committed?" "No," he said, turning his gaze towards Hermione. "You wouldn't know anything about it, but love...love is not a sin." It was only mere moments later Hermione noticed Bellatrix arching back her arm with the same dagger that she had previously used to
1. chapter 1

It had been over five years since the final battle at Hogwarts, but the grief and anguish of unanswered questions had caused Hermione to walk a line. It was a fine line between redemption and utter physical and mental brokenness. She would never admit it aloud, as both Harry and Ron battled their own demons in either drink, or through their romantic relationships, but for Hermione it was different. Although the Golden Trio remained close, it was hard for the lone female member to voice her thoughts without feeling like she was failing. This resounding pit in her stomach refused to relent in its constant aching. The flailing maelstrom inside her kept her on her toes, clinging to whatever flotsam she could get her hands on in pretending for the boys she was getting along just fine. In public, she was guarded and exuded confidence as she helped to rebuild the fallen Ministry. However, in private, Hermione couldn't kick the feeling that what she had seen, especially the night before the war ended, was quite possibly eating her alive, organ by organ, cell by cell. Each night she came home, slipping off her shoes to sit quietly in the light of the dusk feeling as if she was about to collapse in on herself like a dying star. "Survivor's Guilt", her Ministry appointed therapist posited. And guilt it must have been, as it ate away at her conscience night after night. If only Draco sodding Malfoy hadn't sacrificed his life for her, if only she had known he had secretly been working for the Order, if only she could have done more to save him. Save any of the others that periled those last few hellish months. If only, if only, if only.

And it was with the notion of that constant torment that her therapist decided that Hermione needed to take a break.

"You need to experience life the same way others your age normally do, Hermione. You've experienced a lifetime of sorrow in a short amount of years- and I think you owe it to yourself to start chipping away at your sadness. It'll always be with you, of course. That's how the human race ensures that it continues to learn from history, whether or not it's done for good or bad. But it's time you break this mold you've created, and I think that requires time to yourself away from everything that's pulling you in so many directions," he said, putting his clipboard to the side.

Hermione wasn't entirely sure how she should go about doing what he was asking of her.

He sighed deeply, taking his glasses off and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"My girl, you need a vacation. Time to really and truly go through these memories, learn as best you can from them, and then let. go."

"I can't just leave. We're just starting to rebuild. They'll need me," she almost balked.

"Honestly, Hermione, if you keep what you're doing up, they're going to bury you sooner than they'll require your help," the graying doctor noted. "You've done nothing to help yourself these past few months, you've not eaten well, you've barely slept. You look like shite. Glamours will only do so much in helping fool the untrained eye, but I've got you beat. Did a thesis on how to uncover unhealthy behaviors beneath glamours for my doctorate I did," Dr. Pence said pointedly.

Hermione did nothing to deny his more than astute observations, as she leaned back crossing a leg over the other and sliding her arms in front of her.

"Let's say that you're right. Where the hell would I go on holiday without being noticed or accosted. What would I tell Harry and Ron?" she asked, wrinkles inching themselves across her forehead.

"Where have you always wanted to go?" Dr. Pence gestured to the quartered world map that hung just behind his desk.

Hermione remained still and quiet, as her mind raced. It was like watching a grand chess master weigh all of his options, or a scientist examining microbes underneath a glass slide. Dr. Pence sat in silence as Hermione stared at nothing in particular, waiting for her to make the first move. Another ten minutes passed by while Hermione worked out the problem in her head, only every so often hearing the rhythm of her heart beat, or a rustle of Dr. Pence getting comfortable in his chair.

"Perhaps, Maine..." Hermione quietly announced, breaking the silence that had only moments before taken over the room.

"In the US? Hmm, very interesting, and why is that?" The therapist questioned, noting the location on his parchment.

"I...I'm not sure. It just seems to be the only place that I could really picture. I think, I think I need to be by the ocean. Where the rocks turn into craggy cliffs, and just be alone for a while. Not have to...help fix anything that's just as broken...as broken as I am." She murmured, her chin resting on her hand. Dr. Pence jotted down her answer, just as she spoke it, and included how she sat staring, utterly dejected, watching the rain pat against the double paned window.

"Think on it, Hermione. And if you think it'll help to be alone, as I believe it will be, then I suggest you seriously put some thought into picking yourself back up. No amount of nattering from me, or even your friends is going to actually fix the problem. If you're really feeling that much guilt and confusion, then maybe it's time you took yourself out of this Ministry bit and take some time to yourself. Sort your shite out now before it's too late."

Hermione blinked at the doctor, not expecting the hard love he was giving her.

"You're also going to want to bring those memories Draco gave you. Examine them one more time and then be done with it. Set them, and yourself, free from what hold they have on you." Dr. Pence waited a beat as he watched Hermione grimacing while turning her head to rest on one side of his couch.

"And, Hermione..." waiting for the witch to look at him, "please owl me if you need me. I really don't mind calls outside of our regular allotted appointments, as much as you refuse to take advantage of these services both the ministry and I provide," urged Dr. Pence.

Hermione gave him a wain smile before lifting herself up off his couch and walking light-footed to the door.

"I know, I will." There was a pregnant pause as she internally battled with 1. Actually taking time to vacate wizarding London to get her life back together, and 2. Not actually wanting to take the memories that continually haunted her on this extremely inconvenient holiday the doctor was all but forcing her to really consider. "Thank you, Dr. Pence," she sighed, and then apparated with a pop back to her mid-town flat in muggle London.


	2. Chapter 2

**So obviously I don't own any of JK Rowling's characters. I hope you enjoy! Please feel free to comment and let me know what you think. Thanks!**

Failing. Just a constant feeling of failure was all but drowning Hermione. And who would have thought that just an emotion could stopper up your lungs, and take such a tight hold of your chest that it was almost impossible to breathe. Failing wasn't something the brightest witch of their age was accustomed to, excelling in all of her schooling (whether it be muggle or magical), and being one of the key players in taking down Voldemort himself. She sighed into her hands, as they covered her face. Perhaps what Dr. Pence suggested might help, and if Hermione wanted to stop the continual failing that she felt had become her norm, then maybe it was time to step outside of the proverbial box.

Before she flooed to her office in the ministry's Wizengamot wing, she made a detour to the port key authority office. She slipped through the heavy Spanish monastery doors after casting a Notice-Me-Not charm on herself. If one thing was certain, it was that she didn't want the whole of the wizarding community (including her best mates) to know of her last-ditch-effort-in-getting-back-to-normal escape to the States. As far as anyone was aware, Hermione was a regular functioning 23 year old young professional who had a good, sane head on her shoulders. Little did they know that for the past five years, Hermione unraveled herself into a puddle of tears at least once a week, if not more. The post traumatic stress that came with what she, Harry and Ron had been through had put all three through the ringer. And what was worse, was that the boys had no idea about the slew of memories Draco had taken from himself in his last few moments of life and gifted to Hermione. They had all learned that Draco, from the beginning, had been destined himself to play a role in the war for the light side- and that he did so and played it to the tee from the beginning, from the absolute first moment they had initially met at Hogwarts until the last final few breaths he took before death. She had kept those memories to herself, sparing Draco any embarrassment as she knew they were a sort of gift, if not a peace offering. All along, through their years of schooling at Hogwarts, the hatred only welled itself on her side of their warring relationship. Draco had never once thought of her as dirty blooded, but played the game to help end the war and, through memories that told a heart breaking story, to keep her safe and alive. And he had done his part to the best of his ability- the war had ended, and Hermione had come out the other side unscathed...but she could never forgive herself for all of the terrible things that she had said, did and thought of when it came to Draco Lucius Malfoy. It was that problem right there that was going to pack her up and ship her over to one of the 50 states in America to sort her shite and maybe, just possibly, come back as Hermione. The real Hermione, and not the shell she had become.

"Dean? What are you doing here in Port Key Authority?" Questioned a rather shocked Hermione. It was usually Old Clara Bell Mayhew who staffed the window for international travel. Hermione knew that she could've counted on the older woman's tight lips and warm, knowing smile. Dean, on the other hand, was a loud mouth at the best of times, working as an announcer over at the Harpy Quidditch arena. You couldn't stand ten miles away and not hear his booming expressive voice reverberating from the pitch.

"Hermione? Well, I'll be damned. How long's it been, eh? Clara's me mum's aunt. I'm filling in for her today. Came down with a cold, the poor girl." He moved around the partition to take her into his arms. "You been hiding from me again, girly?" The warmth from his tone emanated into his smile.

It was true. It had been a while since she had gone out to the pub with her school mates. She blamed it on the restructuring occurring within the ministry, but deep down she knew it was because of the constant flashbacks she'd continued to have since the battle at Hogwarts. Even now she could easily recollect the blood inching down Dean's temples as he held a mortally wounded Hannah Abbott in his arms. She could hear the gutteral groan that escaped his lips as he tried so hard not to cry, pumping Hannah's chest up and down trying to restart her heart.

Hermione shook herself back to the present. "Oh, no, I'm sorry to hear about Clara. How've you been? How's your Mum?"

"Oh, she's doing well enough, alright. It's you who I'm more curious about. How've you been getting on with all of this..." he gestured with his hands, pointing outside the doors.

"Oh, well...lots to do, I'm afraid. Never enough hours in the day. We've just started bridging the gap between wizards and werewolves, so I'm very hopeful that those who've been infected with licanthropy will be welcomed back into the wizarding comm..."

"Not what I meant, beautiful." He angled his head to the side before crossing his muscular arms in front of himself. "How're you dealing with, you know...I mean, we rarely see you around anymore. And when we do, it's always here at the ministry. What's going on inside that brilliant head of yours?" He asked, ruffling her hair like a big brother would do to a little sister.

"Oh, Dean, I'm sorry. It's just, you know me, nose always stuck in a book, and all," Hermione lied through her teeth. "We'll all definitely have to grab a pint at some point. Maybe when I come back, yeah?"

If this had been a mobile phone call, she would've palmed her face. She hadn't meant to actually spill the beans about her trip.

"And where are you off to?" Dean narrowed his eyes at her.

"Intercontinental Licanthropy Awareness Conference. All very interesting. I'm hoping it'll cover reintegration into wizarding societies for those effected by the bite. I'm so hopeful to-"

"Good Gods, woman. Do you ever sleep? Well, if you're sure you're all right..."

"And I am," she answered, giving the dusky wizard a cheeky grin.

"Well, then, I suppose we should get you all settled to travel. Whereabouts is the conference then," Dean innocently questioned as he pulled out a stack of papers for Hermione to sign and date.

"Maine. In the States."

And not five minutes later, Hermione was sliding through the heavy wooden doors again with her international port key tucked safely away in her briefcase. Although Dean had been a slight hiccup, it was going to be even trickier convincing her friends, as well as her colleagues of the time off she was going to need to use. Especially since she was now tied to this Licanthropy lie.

Hermione rifled through her briefcase to pull out a file of notes she had been taking after studying some of the case files from the influx of vampire refugees. It wasn't part of what her division was covering, but she handed them to her assistant to bring over to one of the other division heads. People sought Hermione out on the regular to discuss the aspects of different cases, seeking her thoughts and educative guesses. Leaving for a non-disclosed amount of time was definitely going to cause quite the backlog of work, which made Hermione squirm.

Before she lost her resolve, she silently marched towards her Department head's door, knocking thrice before entering.

"You need something, Ms. Granger?" drawled the pointy nosed man. He resembled what she thought was a forty-something bloke from the flapper period. Greased over hair, thin mustache, impeccable three piece suit with shiny dress shoes to match. Funnily enough, his temperament and personality were anything but free-spirited and vivacious.

"Yes, sir. I was hoping to request some time off. I believe I have enough annual leave to cover the amount of time I'd like." she disclosed softly.

"Don't you think this is an inconvenient time to take a holiday? We've only just begun sorting this Licanthropy debacle out, and Merlin knows we're going to get roped in to the vampire refugee crisis," he spouted, working himself up into a tail spin.

"Yes, sir. Which is why I thought I could possibly take the time I'm away and attend the Licanthropy Conference in the States." Discretion and ambiguity was key. No details, no information given than was absolutely needed. Hermione had hoped that Justice Walter would work himself into such a lather that he wouldn't require the details if at least a solution was given to him.

Walter waved his hands as if shooing her out the door, "Fine, fine, fine. Just make sure you use this time wisely, as I'm sure you understand what's at stake here in this department," he muttered, dramatically massaging both temples as she turned on her heel and exited his office.

Feeling a slight bit of accomplishment, she started for her own office. Now all she had to do was create an out for herself where the boys were concerned. They would probably believe the Conference bit she had going on, but they would never accept vague details. They'd surely want the who, what, where, when, and why. She thought back to her younger, pre-magical, self cursing the Gods for not giving her siblings to play with and protect her. Well, by God she had them now, and sometimes she just wanted them to stay out of her hair long enough for her to catch her breath.

Hermione picked up another file she had left on her desk the night before. This was a Magical Law Enforcement case regarding some of the unrest between some magical folk and a few werewolves looking to purchase wolfsbane potion. She figured now was as good a time as any to approach her departure with her two counterparts. Tucking the file underneath her arm, she grabbed the strong coffee that her assistant had left on her desk, despite Hermione's protests that she wasn't responsible for such demeaning tasks, and headed to the MLE office where both Ron and Harry worked.

After only minutes of polite head nods and superficial conversation with a few of the higher ranking officers, Hermione had made her way through the bull pen to find Harry and Ron hunched over their conjoined desks examining a witness statement.

"Doesn't make a lick of sense, does it?" Ron lamented as he leaned back in his Department issued chair.

"Well, to be fair, it is half in Mermish. Though I'm not entirely sure why a French-Veela would be speaking a hybrid of such..." Harry trailed off, scratching the back of his neck.

"Boys," huffed the curly dirty-blonde, "Veelas have been known to live in ponds, oceans, large lakes, and the like. Of course they probably bumped into a mermaid or two throughout their lives. Especially if they co-habitated, which would be largely unheard of but technically not impossible. Which begs the question, WHY they were co-habitating...perhaps a stealthy inter-sentient species smuggling ring," Hermione posited, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

"Blimey, Hermione. That's as astute as ever! You sure you shouldn't be working down here with us lot?" Harry sheepishly smiled. "Could do with someone who has a lick of sense, compared to the rest of us in our newly refurbished humble abode," he sat forward gesturing to the newly painted dungeon walls, and the half windows which were located just below the ceiling. Nothing said comfy-cozy than thick black bars welded to the frame of the grungy windows, barely allowing any light from the outside to come in.

"One could only wish, Harry...but I think my talents are better suited upstairs...where I can enjoy some natural lighting..." she wasn't far from kidding. The MLE department had to fork over a huge sum from their allotted yearly budget to renovate their office space. After the war, too many aurors, and even fresh-faced recruits, had either been carted to St. Mungos for severe depression, or worse, found hanging from wooden beams up in the attics of the ministry. One of the stipulations to carry on in their work was to do so in an environment that didn't make you go potty in the head.

"Wash dat, Herm-ony," Ron gestured to the folder under arm as he stuffed his face with a pumpkin pasty, celebrating in a good job done...even if it had been Hermione's speculation.

"The file you boys gave me a few days ago- I've included my notes in red ink. I wanted to give it back to you before I left for my Licanthropy Conference in the States." Careful, Hermione, she told herself. Only a little information at a time, don't leave out too little or give too much or they're bound to start sniffing.

"Oy, how come we weren't asked to go?" Ron almost cried. "Our lot are the ones dealing with all of the fallout from these wizarding tossers who can't seem to get along with one another."

Hermione back paddled a bit, "It's only regarding the re-integration and the laws and ethics behind it all. Nothing you two would be interested in."

"Where did you say it would be?" Harry's brow wrinkled. "I don't believe I'd heard of the States offering anything like that as of late."

"Maine- they figured the New England area would be rural enough for an intercontinental conference without the wizarding community being found out. Too right, can't be careful in the denser populations like California or Florida...even though they'd be much nicer places to visit," she tried sounding wistful.

"Maine, hm? Perhaps we could pop on by to visit you while you're there? I believe they call that state "Vacationland". You'd like that, wouldn't you, Ron? To go see Hermione?," ventured Harry.

"Sure, thimg, Herry. 'Em up fmor anythim," Ron garbled as he ate more of his sopping pasty.

Hermione panicked, "I wish I could, Harry, but I'll be fully booked at all the sessions. And you know me, at night I'll be too busy going over my notes to take time off to go out." She was surprised she could say it all with a straight face.

"That's too bad then...but you should know, Hermione, if you need anything, you can just let us know. Floo, owl or even your mobile." Harry didn't look convinced. "When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow morning, at first light. And don't worry, I'm fine," she lied, touching his shoulder like she had so many times in the past. "It's all going to be so enlightening. I honestly can't wait."

As Hermione packed the essentials that night, she couldn't help but feel that she hadn't thoroughly convinced Harry. It needled her throughout the evening, until she became plagued with absolute dread. She slowly opened her closet doors, moving aside her Ministry work attire, carefully pushing her childhood belongings aside, and reached through to grab a small black velvet box that sat in the very back collecting dust. Her hand trembled as she picked it up, holding her breath as she brought it out into the light. Cautiously, she lifted the cover to expose a handsome family ring. One that she saw on the regular throughout her school days. The same one that had been worn on the finger of someone she had believed to be the most vilest of creatures. Draco's family crested emerald ring rested between the two velvet pillows inside the box. The green bauble glittered, and upon taking a closer look, one could notice that the gem looked as if it were fluid. The inside of it looked as if it perpetually swirled about. In truth, the substance that gave the green stone a liquid-like appearance had been the memories Draco had bequeathed to Hermione before the dark magic which had entered his body overcame him.

She had held his hand, tears spilling down her cheeks and into his hair as she rocked him back and forth. There was only so much she could do without her wand.

"Hermione," he coughed, "you need to go."

"I'm not leaving you," she barely got out, her throat tightening as every second ticked by.

"They're coming," Draco tried to clear his throat, but it did no good as she caught a glimpse of blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth. "You've got to get them out of here. You need to get to safety." His words were quieter, as she felt each breath become more labored than the last.

"It's too late," they had both heard the crash in the adjacent room. Footsteps walked with purpose towards the adjoining doors.

Draco took his wand and aimed at his temple, pulling away swirling silvery tendrils. Each string of memory was placed into the bejeweled ring.

"Malfoy," Hermione squeaked as she saw the blood pooling beneath him, drenching her robes, "Oh, God, Malfoy, why did you do it?" She didn't let him answer. "You're going to be okay, I'm not leaving you here, you hear me? Stay with me, keep awake, alright?"

He slipped the ring on to her finger. "It's in there. Everything you'll need to know." He looked into her eyes, his steely gray eyes softening. "You were always worth it, you know." He closed his lids, trying to focus.

"Damnit, Draco, don't you dare go to sleep on me. I swear to Merlin, you will absolutely regret it once I'm done with you!"

His eyes remained closed as the room was beginning to spin, a smile splaying across his lips. "You said my name," he barely croaked out, "sounds nice."

The footsteps continued to close in on them.

"Hermione, this is the last time I'm going to ask you," Draco begged as he pushed her towards the hallway, "you've got to get out of here. All of you. I'll take care of them," he jerked his head towards where the commotion was coming from, "but witch, you need to run!"

A wandless Hermione, rose from her knees, still feeling the ghostly thrum of Draco's pulse on her pointer and middle finger.

"Go!" Draco roared as the double doors blew open, sending wooden shrapnel everywhere.

It was the first, and last, time Hermione had ever done wandless magic, be it from her heightened anxiety or something of the like, but she was able to apparate away to the dungeons to collect the rest of their group. And it nearly shattered her heart as she did so; she had abandoned Draco Malfoy in the darkening teal parlor by himself. And for her cowardice, she was rewarded with the faintest of echo, a gruff voice spelling Draco with the "Avada Kedavra!" curse.

"Hermione," she could hear Draco calling to her.

"Hermione, come back to me."

"Hermione," she could hear the urgency in his voice.

"Oh, Draco, I wish I could," she whispered harshly as tears began to sting her eyes, eventually soaking the box she clutched in her hands.


	3. Chapter 3

**Honestly, I'm not loving this chapter, but I've been legitimately re-reading it for the past few days- I give up. Lol. If I don't post it now, I won't be able to concentrate on writing the upcoming chapter. I hope you enjoy! Feel free to drop me a line. :)**

 **As always- I don't own JK Rowling's characters.**

"Hermione, God damnit, HERMIONE! Wake up!"

Hermione came to as Harry brought her back to reality.

"Harry...I," Hermione trailed off.

"Hermione, what in God's name?!"

Hermione shied away from Harry's grasp, trying to hide the ring, and the contents it preserved. It was of no use though, as Harry caught her by the elbow and enveloped her in his arms.

"What have you been hiding from us?" He breathed into her ear, unwilling to let her go. Hermione's hair rustled as he spoke.

Against her better judgement, she fanned open her hands and let Draco's ring dance in the light of the sunset.

"Malfoy's ring? How did you come across that?" Harry asked her incredulously.

"Draco," she corrected him, "Before he died, but not before infusing it with memories he wanted me to see." Hermione confessed everything to Harry. She told him of those finals moments, events that she had omitted telling anyone other than the brave and heroic acts that Draco deserved credit for. Harry was stunned by what had taken place while he had been trapped underneath the expansive mansion.

"I...Hermione, why all this time? Why not tell us?" Harry questioned slowly. "What about the memories? Why did he want you to see them?"

"He..." Hermione's voice broke, "wanted me to know that I wasn't worthless in our world. He...wanted to see why he was always so ugly to us, to me in particular."

"Because of his mission," Harry surmised.

"No, not only because of the mission. Because...he...he was in love with me." She began to falter, not wanting to revisit the painful, clouded memories Draco implored her to watch. Hermione walked to one of the dormer windows in her bedroom, sitting at the window seat to hug her knees to her chest.

"Sorry, what?! He was awful to you because he loved you?" Harry choked out.

"You know why, Harry. You know why he was like that. He couldn't pal around with those that weren't in Slytherin, lest Voldemort find out," she sighed against her hand as she cupped her chin. She was barely holding it together as it was. "He preserved his memories of me, of us, of himself into the ring. It explains everything, from the beginning to the end. He was- he had done so much to protect all of us, not just you and me, but the entire student population at Hogwarts. He failed countless times over and over, on purpose, so that the vanishing cabinet wouldn't let the Death Eaters through. The year that Buckbeak was sentenced to death...It was all a ruse that he had cooked up to distract the dementors from finding Sirius. He had fully intended to rescue Buckbeak, and was quite irritated when we tromped our way through to do it ourselves. And, Harry, the real ringer is, is that sodding Hagrid was in on it." The anger began to well up inside of her again. "And there I flipping was, breaking his nose even though he was the good guy." She was becoming hysterical. "And our last year, you remember that, yes? When you hexed him with Sectumsempra? He was looking so ill and jumpy during that time because Voldemort had just issued my death warrant. He was running out of time, to save me. Me. He had looked so utterly miserable, Harry, because he thought he had failed in keeping me alive. He took the mark because he was the one who volunteered to apprehend me...there was no other option. He was in that bathroom trying to sort out how to convince me to run away with him, so he could tuck me far away in some safe haven while he tried to help you finish what you had been destined to do."

"Jesus, 'Mione..." Harry was lost for words, as he watched one of the strongest females he knew succumb to the tears that had been building through the entire length of her story.

"And his love for me, Harry... I can't, I just can't," she sobbed, unable to give any more details regarding the last final and very personal memories. "Do you know what it feels like to regret everything you have ever done or said or even bloody thought about someone because you were SO off base? Harry, these past five years have been absolute torture. I've watched those memories over and over again, like they were my own personal punishment. You can't imagine what it's like to fall in love with a ghost!" Hermione faltered and resigned to stare out the window. "Which is why, as I'm sure you've surmised, I need to go. I need just a little space. I need to somehow say goodbye and leave him there, so I can be normal again. And the ridiculously sad thing, Harry, is that I'm worried that I won't be able to let go. Perhaps I won't want to let go." She sighed, looking into her friends green orbs. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to Obliviate me, would you?" She asked, only half teasing.

"Hermione..." Harry began slowly, "I don't think Malfoy, I mean Draco, intended for his confession to effect you in this way. Sure, he may have wanted you to know, but Christ, he definitely couldn't have meant for this." He couldn't hold back a grimace as he took stock of the last five years, berating himself for not noticing how unhappy Hermione must've been.

Hermione gave Harry a weak smile. "I know," was all she could say.

Harry let out a sigh, hissing through his teeth. "I meant what I said earlier today. If you need me, need us, don't hesitate. You know we'll be there for you in an instant. Always. Never doubt it."

"I know," she nodded.

"Let's get you into bed then. Big morning tomorrow, don't want you to be late." Harry extended his hand, and Hermione took it.

After climbing into bed, Harry checked that she had had a cocoa before kissing her forehead and leaving. What he didn't mention was that he had added just a dash (or two) of Dreamless Sleep so that Hermione could finally rest. He doubted that she had had a good nights sleep since the war began. Before closing the door, he looked in on his best friend one last time, and then apparated back to Godric's Hollow. It went without saying that he wouldn't breathe a word to Ginny or Ron, even though he was bursting at the seams to confer with somebody (anybody!) about what he barely had had time to digest.


	4. Chapter 4

**Lots of descriptive bits in this one. I hope you like this chapter. I tried to channel as much inspiration from my LLBean magazines as possible. I'm a bit obsessed.**

 **Feel free to comment -- I really appreciate it, and they definitely serve as a swift kick in the backside to keep writing. Thanks so much!**

When Hermione woke, she noticed that the sun had just begun to inch over the brownstones across from her flat. She swiped a hand through her tangled curls, noticing how fuzzy her head felt.

"Harry bleeding Potter," she barely mumbled. "Oh God, it must've been Dreamless Sleep," as she gripped her head to steady herself.

It had taken Hermione longer than expected to get through her morning routine. Dreamless Sleep tended to have that side effect on her, which is why she more often than not refused to ingest the drug.

It was after her shower that she felt a slight bit better, as she focused intently on her bathroom mirror, carefully apply dark brown mascara to her long lashes. After wiping a few flecks of fallen shadow from her cheeks, she decided it was time to go.

She looked quite fetching in the muggle clothes that she still wore on a regular basis. Her dark washed skinnies hugged her curves, while her grey long sleeve and dark green jacket had given her the touch of modesty she preferred. Prior to showering, Hermione had checked the weather, and although it was sunny, Maine was just coming out of a cold snap during its late spring. Just for added measure, she grabbed an off white and black striped scarf and wound it around her neck before placing her brown sunglasses over her eyes. The last items she grabbed were her light grey and beige Toms, and once she had slipped them on, she hesitantly levitated her weekend bag to the middle of her living room. Of course, she was planning on staying longer than just a singular weekend, but she chose to cast an Undetectable Extension Charm to hide the rest of her necessities...including the gorgeously upsetting ring.

"In you go, Draco," she muttered half-heartedly, already feeling the burden on her shoulders all but weighing her down. Taking one last breath, she surveyed her apartment and then reached for her international port key. The irony was not lost on her as she pulled out a black and green dragon replica toy sporting a golden underbelly. It wrapped itself around her wrist as it breathed little puffs of smoke and fire, squeaking out a roar.

"Crookshanks! Come here, kitty!" She called to the haughty kneazel.

Within seconds, Crooks was underfoot and the two zipped out of her tidy home with a WHOOOSH, leaving only the curtains to waft back down to their soldier straight position.

Hermione appeared in an alley way between two shops in Jonesport, Maine. Noticing that the orange furball had begun to wind his away around trash cans and into the open, she decided that she too should start her journey to find her ocean front rental.

"You'll come find me when you're done snooping, yes?" She reminded the cat.

Hermione was rewarded with a grouchy mewl while the feline slinked away, and within seconds she was alone.

Once she had made it out of the ally way, she started down Main Street in search of the tiny rental property she had leased. At only 784 square feet with two bedrooms and one bath, she was hoping to indulge in some much needed respite from the craze of the ministry...she would also be forced in preparing to face Draco's memories for the absolute last time before saying "goodbye". Hermione had hoped that once she had decided to leave Jonesport and head home, the only thing that would remain inside of the little gray shanty would be the ghost of Draco and his past.

Hermione hadn't noticed how far she had walked as she contemplated what she'd do with her time in Jonesport. When she realized she was no longer on the main sidewalk anymore, she stopped to take in her surroundings, with a hand on her hip, one leg popped.

"Shit," she cursed under her breath.

She looked around again. Jonesport wasn't big, but what it lacked in size, it made up for in its picturesque views. There were multiple fire lanes to the surrounding ocean front properties, and Hermione couldn't make heads or tails as to which one would lead her to Englishman Bay Rd.

The wind whipped at her hair, sending it dancing across her face. Fortunately for Hermione, with the help of a charm in conjunction with a generous amount of SleakEasy's, her hair wasn't as hard to control as it had been all throughout her prepubescent years. A candy apple red pumper fire truck hummed past her as she tried in vain to tame her hair back in to place, still searching for the dirt path that would take her to the shake shingled beach house.

"Merlin's beard!" Hermione exclaimed wth a stomp of her foot.

It was then that she saw the pumper ride its brakes, coming to an abrupt stop, and then slowly reversing back to where she stood.

"Need help, miss?" Shouted a ruddy faced firefighter, as he leaned out of the passenger window.

"Uh, um, yes, I think so!" Hermione shouted back over the howl of the wind. "Might you be able to point me in the direction of Englishman Bay Road?"

"Not from around these parts, huh? Well you'll go down this road until you get to that sandy one right there," he pointed, "then that'll take you to a fork, the only road in that fork is Englishman. Not too far from here. Not many people out that way though. You got family 'round here?"

"Oh, me? No, just renting a bit. But thank you ever so! I do appreciate it."

"'Course, no problem, miss!" The driver's hand came into view, gesturing that he had asked the other fireman a question. "Hey, miss! You out there all alone?"

"Yes, just myself and my cat." She said as she tried scraping her hair back out of her eyes.

"Might want to grab as many provisions you can, we're expecting a mighty big storm this weekend. Should be a doozy!" He smiled. "Firehouse is always open, but if you find yourself in a pickle, you can always call." He turned towards the driver, "Ain't that right, Drake?" Hermione saw a thumbs up appear by the steering wheel.

As the pumper pulled away, the fireman leaned out one final time, "Let us know if you need anything! Have a nice day!" A pale arm made its way out of the drivers side window and gave a languid wave before resigning to hang down the outside of the door.

Hermione watched the 6-wheeled vehicle lumber down the road until it was no longer visible, then continued walking until she came across Fire lane 7.

After having turned the key, Hermione walked inside the petite building that she planned to use as her short term home away from home. The air was stale, and there were mounds of beach sand scattered about the floor. The wind had blown it through the bottom crack of the door during the last storm the house had weathered. She also couldn't help but notice the half-inch layer of thick dust that coated most surfaces, as well as the few cob webs that lingered around lights and in corners.

With a huff, she set to work cleaning the muggle way, sweeping sand, washing floors, working the dirt and grime out of the porous surfaces. Many of Hermione's inner circle never understood her penchant for physical cleaning when she could simply use her magic, but Hermione thought of it as a soothing menial task that could anchor her churning emotions.

She focused on scrubbing down the quartz countertops, just as the stretching rays of sun disappeared from the window. When she turned to start on the smudged glass, Hermione noticed that the sky had darkened to a light grey pallor, and the chop from the ocean could be audibly heard through the closed doors and windows. She hurriedly finished up the last few bits of housework so that she could unpack, as well as make up her bedroom.

Pulling the warmed sheets from the dryer in the mud room, she thought to make the bed before getting comfortable for the night. The checkered blue and white pattern looked fetching enough against the antiqued white headboard. A lighter blue comforter topped the bed while a flouncy white dust ruffle hovered just above the slate floorboards. After peeking into the tiny bedroom closet, she also found a wooly maroon blanket that would help in keeping her warm, should the bad weather bring with it the cold and icy rain Maine had previously experienced only weeks before.

Hermione loved the charm that the house seemed to exude. It featured a fireplace in both the living and bedroom, while boasting weathered grey hardwood floors and white washed shiplap walls. Seashells had been pressed into the concrete that held both fireplaces together, while some impressive handyman had fashioned both mantles out of huge planks of driftwood. Luckily, the previous owner had thought to cover all of the navy blue furniture in drop clothes before leaving the house vacant for so long.

After a quick microwaveable dinner (she made a mental note to stock the fridge) Hermione walked barefoot to her room, unpacking her clothes from her enlarged tote, and folding the items into the matching distressed mirrored bureau. Hermione charmed a rope of twinkle lights to hang around the mirror, just as she whispered "incendio", enjoying the glow that came from the roaring blaze in the hearth.

She reached into her tote and pulled out the last item that it had stowed. The black velvet box shook in her hands. Hermione kneeled by the flickering flames, willing her blood not to run cold from the touch. Fingers shaking with trepidation, she breathlessly slipped the cold metal over her knuckle, instantly falling into a curtain of black nothingness, and landing feet first, coughing, in a dark mahogany paneled library.


	5. Chapter 5

**Not entirely sure if you guys are still digging this. Let me know. :) If there are any errors- I apologize. I've been writing this all in a Note on my phone -- so there's that.**

 **Again- I don't own any of the JK Rowling characters or storyline.**

"Excusé moí?" Ginny replied haughtily, "There's no intercontinental what-have-you about lycanthropy," as she narrowed her eyes, pointing at her new husband. "Harry Potter, if there was any such thing, she'd have gone on about it for six months straight! You're lying, you're doing that thing with your eyebrows again. You _know_ something!" The red-haired fireball marched up to the cornered Potter and poked her finger into his sternum, trying to mean business. "You're hiding something from me, husband, but don't you dare think for one moment that I won't find out about it." All Harry could hear as she rounded the corner down the hallway was the thumps of her feet as she angrily stalked away.

Ginny Potter née Weasley was nothing like her mother, while simultaneously being an almost exact copy. She could smell a lie before one even concocted it, and she knew a ruse when she saw one. Growing up with almost an army of brothers could do that to a girl.

"Blast," Harry sighed, leaning against the doorframe as he peaked his head into his God son's room. The little boy, who at the moment was sporting blue hair, was napping soundly with one of Fang's puppies that Hagrid had gifted him for his recent fifth birthday.

"Damn straight, Potter," his vixen of a wife whispered into his ear.

"Christ Almighty, woman!" Harry grabbed at his chest, landing back on the balls of his feet. The black puppy opened one eye, stretching, and then sluggishly turned to lay back to back with his tiny master.

"Quiet down, or you'll wake Teddy," she chastised. "Now spill the...what is it you muggles say? Spill the peas, Potter." With both her hands on her hips, the wizard knew when he was about to lose a battle. If past fights were any indication of the future, he knew his battleship had already been sunk.

"It's beans, love. Spill the beans. It came from the-"

"Harry."

"I just thought you'd be interested..."

"When have I ever been interested?"

"There's a first time for everything," he spoke slowly, shrugging his shoulders.

"And there's a last time for everything, too," she said, quirking an eyebrow while slipping her t-shirt over her shoulder, revealing a black lacy bra. "You wouldn't want the other night to be our last time, would you?"

Harry furrowed his eyebrows.

"Come now, Harry, just think of it," Ginny giggled as she pawed at her husbands chest. "You spill the beans, and I'll spread my legs. Mmm, you'd like that, right?" She wolfishly smiled, licking his earlobe.

"Fuck, Gin," he moaned as he ground into his wife, pushing her up against the wall.

"Uh, uh. Not before you tell me, dear," she laughed, wagging her finger.

Harry frowned, groaning as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"HARRY BLEEDING POTTER! AND YOU WEREN'T GOING TO TELL ME?!" his wife bellowed.

"Ginny," he whispered, "remember Teddy- he's sleeping!" He raised both hands up in front of him, he was at the mercy of his hot-headed wife. He decided it was in his own interest to give up and raise the white flag.

"I'll skin you alive, I will!" She venomously whispered. "And you just let her go...off on her own accord?! Knowing how terrible she must be feeling? Oh, you IDIOT!"

"Gin- she said she needed time away to work everything through...wants to try and leave the memory of him back in Maine so she comes back normal," Harry reasoned with his wife.

"And do you think that you can let go and forget just like that?!" She questioned, snapping her fingers for emphasis. "Well, I'll remember that for when I die and you'll forget me all together, as well!"

"You know that these are two totally different things. We're married, we've built a life together! Hermione thought that Malfoy, damn it, I mean Draco, hated her all these years."

"But he saved her life! That's something totally different than just a school boy crush, you daft bugger!" Ginny threw her hands up in frustration. "Merlin and Morgana! I cannot believe that Draco Malfoy was besotted with Hermione. I mean, I always had my suspicions, but I just thought that was him being a ferreting git. Of course, that was before we all found out what side he was actually on. My God...poor Hermione." She resigned to plunk down on the ottoman in their living room, running her fingers through her wildly tangled hair, still windswept from quidditch practice.

Harry shuffled his feet, "Soo, I seem to remember something about legs being spread?"

Ginny leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. "Potter, you're lucky I don't hex it off. I wouldn't push it, if I were you," she sighed, chucking a pillow at him.


End file.
